Scarlet Fever
by Mikage1
Summary: One-shot. Falling ill allows Wolfram to spend some much desired time with his family. Gen-fic. Pre-series.


**A/N:** While working on my two WIPs, I remembered a few one-shots I'd written for a fanfic meme on LJ that I never got around to posting a year ago (because I'd never finished all of the prompts). I decided to post them here. This is the first of three. The other two will be posted soon.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Kyou Kara Maou or any of its characters.

**Warnings: **None.

**Pairing: **None. Gen-fic.

**Setting: **61 years pre-series.

**Rating: **K.

* * *

**Scarlet Fever**

by Mikage

_"The greatest poem ever known  
Is one all poets have outgrown:  
The poetry, innate, untold,  
Of being only four years old."_  
~Christopher Morley, _To a Child_

At twenty-one, Wolfram couldn't remember a day in which he'd had the members of his family all to himself. Mother was always pressured by her duties as queen, Big Brother had studying to do and responsibilities to take care of as the eldest son, and Little Big Brother was always away with his Father. Wolfram didn't know what 'duty' and 'responsibility' were, nor did he really have a very good idea of what a father was supposed to be since he'd never really had one, but what he _did_ know was that he didn't like being left alone all the time, and it was because of these things that they were rarely around.

Everyone was too busy to spend time with him, though he knew they tried. Sometimes his mother would come see him at lunch, but she could only stay for a few minutes, just long enough to cuddle him close to her bosom and kiss his blond curls, before she was off again with a swirl of her black dress and a bounce of her tight ringlets.

Once he went to find Big Brother to ask him to read him a story before bed, but Gwendal was too focused on other things, and told him he'd do so some other time, and went back to reading the papers on his desk instead. He had to wonder if that 'other time' would ever come.

Little Big Brother was a bit better, but only when he was actually home, and even then he had his own set of studies, and he would be away more often than not, with the only trace of him being the occasional letter he sent back to the castle.

Wolfram had nothing else to do but spend all day in the nursery and play with his toys. He built forts and castles out of blocks, acted out glorious battles with his toy soldiers, spun some tops, smeared various colored paints onto parchment and canvas with his hands and fingers, and had tea parties with all of his stuffed animals. When it was warm, his nanny would take him for walks out in the gardens, and he would lean down to smell all of his mother's sweet smelling flowers, or dig in the dirt for bugs and worms. By the time he was taken back in, he'd be dirty enough to require a bath, and would then be carried off to his room with drooping eyelids, where he'd take a nap before getting ready for dinner.

His days passed quickly, as there were always things of interest around to catch his attention and entertain his young mind, but even still he missed his family, and would always look towards the door to the nursery in the hopes that they'd come visit him.

One day, he didn't feel like playing with his toys like he always had before, and he was in the middle of listlessly setting up his soldiers for the onset of another battle when his nanny asked him if he was feeling alright. She approached him and kneeled down so she was at his level, and placed her wrinkled hand against his forehead. She gasped at the heat radiating from his pallid skin, and immediately scooped him up to take him back to his bedchamber, where she set him on his bed and changed him into one of his night dresses, before calling one of the healers to come see him.

Wolfram didn't understand a lot of what was said between the two of them when the healer finally arrived and looked him over, but he did know that he felt achy all over, and his throat was very sore; it was hard to swallow, and as his fever continued to steadily grow higher, he became more listless, and eventually gave into fatigue and fell asleep.

He awoke every once in a while, long enough to take some medicine. The healer constantly looked him over, asking him to open his mouth, studying his throat, the roof of his mouth, and his tongue. Even through the haze that had overtaken his mind, he could tell that both his nanny and the healer were frantic with worry, especially when he developed a rough, red rash that spread all along his body. But the only thing they could do other than try and medicate him was keep him comfortable, and pile blankets on top of him to try and sweat the fever out.

There was no way for him to tell just how much time passed, because every time he woke up the sun seemed to be at a different level in the sky, and the amount of light in his room slowly grew dimmer and dimmer.

He slept for a long time. It seemed to be the only way to escape from the fever, or at least to elude the constant ache. The next time he opened his eyes, he knew it must be nighttime, as his room was now lit solely by candlelight. He knew also that he had missed dinner, thereby losing any chance he had of seeing his family that day.

But as he slowly turned his head to seek out his nanny and ask for some water, he saw the old woman fast asleep in a chair in the corner of the room, and his mother sitting along the edge of his bed, her delicate hand with its brightly painted nails reaching out to tenderly stroke his matted curls. His heart swelled in excitement, and he wanted to call out to her happily, and smile brightly to let her know that he was delighted to see her there, but all that came out was a choked "Mother…" before his tired eyes blurred, and he felt tears sliding down his flushed face.

"Shhh…" she quietly shushed him, and moved to place herself further onto the bed, carefully taking him into her arms and bringing him close to her, kissing his tears away. He clung to her, fisting his tiny hands into the smooth material of her richly colored dress, and buried his face into the swell of her breasts, like he did every time she came to see him.

He calmed after a while, and though he was becoming increasingly more tired, he clung to consciousness for just a bit longer, wanting to spend as much time with his mother as he possibly could before she had to return to her duties. Once he was no longer clinging as tightly, she pulled away only enough to reach out for the glass of water resting on his bedside table, and helped him drink.

"Are you feeling any better?" she asked him then, brushing at his hair some more once he'd had his fill, before setting the glass back off to the side.

He could only nod and return to the circle of her arms. He still ached, and his fever raged on, but it became easier to ignore when she was there holding him, and smiling down at him like he was the most important thing in all the world.

His nanny began to stir some time later, straightening in her chair and glancing towards the bed to look upon her charge. Her eyes widened when she caught sight of the queen, and she immediately stood to her feet. "Your Majesty, you shouldn't be so close!" she said, uneasy. "The fever could spread to you! You mustn't-"

But his mother cut her off with a shake of her head. "It's alright…" she replied, with no concern for herself, and Wolfram felt his heart swell even more.

His nanny looked as if she were about to argue against her, but she was stopped when the door to his room creaked open. For a moment, Wolfram was afraid that it was someone coming to tell his mother that she was needed elsewhere, because he knew that if that were the case, she wouldn't have any choice but to leave. He clung tightly to her dress again, as if to silently beg her to ignore all others and remain with him, when he knew that leaving him wasn't really her choice.

But instead of his uncle or any of the other men who advised his mother, he saw two pairs of eyes peeking in, warm brown ones looking on with obvious worry, and dark blues ones that were normally blank, holding carefully restrained concern instead.

Little Big Brother was the first to enter, dashing in and quickly heading over to the side of his bed. "Wolfram!" he exclaimed, only stopped from getting any closer when his nanny grabbed onto his shoulder with one of her hands, preventing him from climbing onto the bed with his mother and little brother. "One of the maids said you were sick, and that's why you weren't at dinner…"

Wolfram didn't know how to answer him, and his throat felt too sore for him to even want to try to say something in reply, so he just nodded pitifully, looking up at Conrart with happiness shining in his green eyes.

Gwendal was slower in his journey into the candlelit room, but once he'd crossed over the threshold, he quietly shut to door behind him, blocking out the rest of the world. He approached the bed as Conrart had, and in his hands the tiny blond could see a hard covered book, one he recognized as having come from one of the shelves in his nursery.

"Would you like me to read to you?" his big brother asked, and at the time Wolfram could not understand why he looked somewhat sad. As he grew older he would be able to tell that that look was not one of sadness, but one of regret.

Gwendal didn't wait for an answer, and merely pulled up a chair, allowing Conrart to sit by him as he opened the book.

Wolfram smiled through the fever, safe in his mother's arms, and listened to the sound of Big Brother's voice quietly reciting the lines of his favorite story as he slowly drifted back to sleep.

_La Fin._


End file.
